


Corruption

by paleasmorningmist



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Child Neglect, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV First Person, POV Ramsay Bolton, Physical Abuse, Ramsay is his own warning, Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 01:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13494328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paleasmorningmist/pseuds/paleasmorningmist
Summary: Ramsay POV inspired by Roose Bolton's conversation with Theon in ADWD:“I knew the first Reek. He stank, though not for want of washing. I have never known a cleaner creature, truth be told. He bathed thrice a day and wore flowers in his hair as if he were a maiden. Once, when my second wife was still alive, he was caught stealing scent from her bedchamber. I had him whipped for that, a dozen lashes. Even his blood smelled wrong. The next year he tried it again. This time he drank the perfume and almost died of it. It made no matter. The smell was something he was born with. A curse, the smallfolk said. The gods had made him stink so that men would know his soul was rotting. My old maester insisted it was a sign of sickness, yet the boy was otherwise as strong as a young bull. No one could stand to be near him, so he slept with the pigs … until the day that Ramsay’s mother appeared at my gates to demand that I provide a servant for my bastard, who was growing up wild and unruly. I gave her Reek. It was meant to be amusing, but he and Ramsay became inseparable. I do wonder, though … was it Ramsay who corrupted Reek, or Reek Ramsay?”





	Corruption

Blood was dripping down her back. I stared, fascinated by the way her skin had split in places, while in others it seemed her blood was trying to force its way out through the raised red lines in their haphazard criss-crosses on her skin. I wanted to touch them. I imagined that the slightest pressure of my finger on one of the welts would cause it to rupture and spill out more of the dark red liquid. This vision made me feel warm inside. My fingertips were tingling and the air smelled like metal. Her blood smelled like mine; a strange thing, I thought. Heke's blood did not smell like mine when we played our games. 

Flies had already started to swarm around us. The odd one would stray over to me and buzz unpleasantly close to my ear and I would slap at it, silencing it forever. I wanted nothing to disturb the serenity of the meadow under the fading sunlight and the sound of her ragged breathing. She deserved this. No day should end while there are still lessons to be learned. That's what Heke had taught me. A peaceful night's rest tempts mercy, he said. It weakens resolve. I did not understand why this should be, but I accepted it. After all, I did not like to wait to do things I wanted to do, and lessons were one of my favourite things. At first, Heke had taught me many lessons I did not like, but now I was learning to give the lessons. That, I liked.

***

We aligned, Heke and I. We were not the same, but we moved together naturally, like the moon and the sun around the earth. I treasured him at that young age, a gift from my lord father, the first thing that was ever truly mine. I knew it was rare to have something, though Mother told me I should have much more, that I was the son of a great nobleman and that I would have what I was entitled to, one day. But these words rang false in my ears. Everything I'd ever had had gone away. I had a kitten, but it didn't know it was mine, and died when I tried to teach it. Other creatures were the same. They were entertaining, in their way, but they were never mine. They were hard to keep and took more than they gave, except at the end. 

I found what was missing the day my mother took me to my lord father's castle, soon after my ninth name day. She said that I was to have a servant, that I did not know how to behave as befit my station. This meant little to me, but I was excited to see my father and show him how I had grown and how I could shoot a rabbit at fifty feet. When we arrived at the castle, though, my mother left me outside the castle gates. 

I sat alone in the dirt and waited, now and then throwing stones at the rats that would emerge from the walls if I sat still long enough. By the by two men came out of the gates on horseback. They were grim-looking men, lightly armoured with swords at their hips. One horse stopped near me to lift its tail and shit into the dirt. The men looked at me without interest, and anger stirred within me. I was the son of the Lord of the Dreadfort and they looked at me the same way as they looked at a horse's dung. Standing up, I glared at them, wondering if I dared to throw a stone at one of their ugly heads. 

"Look at the fucking eyes on him," one man grunted to the other. "How many of these little cunts are loose in the North, I'd like to know. Probably as many as there are wedded wives, Gods save us." He spat. The other man looked troubled and said nothing, nudging his horse back into motion and moving off. The first man followed him, staring at me over his shoulder as they disappeared down the road. I stared back, determined not to look away first.

"Ramsay." A soft voice spoke behind me, but I was still staring after the man who had angered me, though I could no longer see whether he was still looking back at me or not. I ignored the voice, but I wrinkled up my nose. Something smelt funny. 

"Is he deaf or stupid?" came the soft voice again, and I spun around, ready to take out my pent-up anger on whoever had just spoken of me thus. But it was my lord father whose eyes met mine. I could not read the look in his eyes. They were cold and colourless, just as people said mine were. 

"Father," I said. "Forgive me, sir, I did not hear you." My mother stood next to him, looking cross about something, and next to her stood a man I had never seen before. He was strange-looking. I had never seen a man like him. He had flowing golden hair like a maid, with a circlet of flowers perched on top, and slim, hairless arms. He gave me a soft smile, like we shared a secret. I looked at my mother, confused. "Who's *that*?" I asked rudely.

"That, Ramsay, is your new serving man," my father answered for her. "Heke will be returning home with you. He is yours to command. This is a great responsibility. Do you understand?"

I looked at Heke again. He was still smiling. Had he winked at me, ever so slightly? I couldn't be sure. I sneered at him, just in case. Mother still looked cross, which made no sense: this was what she had come to the castle for. Perhaps she didn't like that he was comelier than she was. She liked to talk about what a beauty she had been and the men who had loved her. It was all lies, of course. My father would have married her were she ever a beauty, and I would have been the trueborn son of a lord. Ramsay Bolton, heir of the Dreadfort. But my mother cheated me of that, and still dared to tell such lies. I almost laughed with contempt, carried away by these thoughts.

"I am yours to command, Master Ramsay," murmured Heke. "I will be at your side, always." As he spoke, my mother's face contorted more and she turned away from him. Realisation dawned on me: the funny smell was coming from him. 

"Why does he smell so disgusting?" I asked my father. 

"He has been bedding with the pigs, that is all," he replied. "You may give him whatever quarters you wish, and he will bathe as you order him to." 

Something about this didn't sound right. Heke looked like he had just emerged from a thorough cleansing. His skin was clear and smooth and his hair shone like it was made of silk. "I hope I do not offend you, Master Ramsay," he said in the same soft murmur.

"Tell him not to speak unless spoken to," my father said to me, irritated. "He is to listen and obey. Your mother is right; you have no notion of proper behaviour."

These words cut me, and I was suddenly furious at everyone: my mother for bringing me here, Heke for the way he looked and smelled and the responsibility I was now saddled with, and my father for teaching me nothing then chiding me for my ignorance. I slapped Heke across the face as hard as I could. "Speak out of turn again and I'll have you whipped!" I said, though I was not quite sure who I would have to whip him. Imagining he was the man on the horse, I slapped him again. "Yes, master," he said quietly, still standing straight as the shape of my hand bloomed in red on his left cheek. A small smile still played across his lips, though his eyes watered. My mother's cross expression was gone; she was looking at me with wide eyes. She reminded me of my kitten, when I had been trying to teach it things.

My father looked amused. "Very well then," he said. "Heke, you will see your new master and his mother safely home. You will stay out of the woman's bedchambers and touch nothing unless you have been commanded to do so. You will obey all orders from your master without question.

"Ramsay, I have not been pleased by the tales I have heard of you," he continued. "A Snow you are, but you are still of my blood and I will not hear more of you acting like an animal. Don't draw attention to yourself. All boys will amuse themselves, but you expose yourself to ridicule with your idiotic behaviour. I will hear no more of it. Will I?"

"No, sir," I muttered. I didn't know what he was talking about. I hadn't done anything wrong. The unfairness of everything weighed down upon me. My mother said I was meant for greatness, that I was the blood of the Lord of the Dreadfort, but visits to my father never brought me anything but frustration and humiliation.

***

That was how it had begun, two years ago, and this morning my mother's maidservant's impudent remark had brought the feelings of that day back with screaming immediacy. Snow, she had called me, sharp needles in her voice. So I ordered Heke to take her out to the meadow and whip her. She wept and begged for mercy, but we had none to give her. Heke whipped her until she stopped weeping, stopped moving. She still stood, sort of, held up by her wrists that were tied to the crude whipping post Heke had erected for me on my tenth name day. We had used it for games, but this was the first time it had been used for real lessons. Once the girl had quieted, Heke had given me the whip to let me try. I had practised on him before, but whipping the girl's raw, red flesh was something different entirely. 

So I stood a while before this feast for the senses: the sight and smell of her blood, the sound of her breathing. I laid the bloodied whip carefully on the grass at my feet and stepped forward. Waving away the flies, I gingerly touched a flap of skin on her back, testing it between my fingers. It was thicker than I had imagined skin would be, denser and heavier. "Taste it, master," whispered Heke at my shoulder. I had not even heard him come near. Disgusted by the suggestion, I backhanded him and he silently retreated.

I returned to my flap of skin, fascinated by its texture and surprising density and strength. I clutched it firmly and pulled hard. As more skin tore away from the flesh of her back, a bloodcurdling scream came out of the girl, whom I had thought comatose. She struggled wildly, screaming like an animal. This was a very interesting development. "Heke, hold her still," I commanded. Almost before I had finished speaking, he had the girl in a firm grasp, immobilising her against the post. She screamed and cried, seemingly begging for mercy but forming no distinguishable words. I grabbed the flap of skin again and peeled it further off her back. She screamed again, and struggled with shocking strength, then suddenly went limp. She had fainted. 

My whole body was singing. Nothing had ever felt so good. "Heke, your knife," I said, and he passed me the small blade he always carried with him. I neatly severed the flap of skin from the girl's unresponsive body. "Get her inside and clean her up," I commanded. "My mother will be needing her tomorrow." I left Heke to deal with the girl and took my new treasure back to the house with me. The sun was almost gone and I wanted to see what the cook had prepared for my dinner.


End file.
